The Origin of Frost Daughter!




This is the origin story of my character, Frost Daughter. I am much enamored of this character, so I wrote this mostly for my own edification. But since this seems to be the place to post stories, I thought I would torment everyone else with it while I was at it:
The Origin of Frost Daughter!

Part 1: A Discovery - Greenland, 2 months ago

The world was white and blue, to the very edge of vision -- the great frozen waste of wind-blasted snow, the harsh line of the horizon, and then the unbroken blue of the sky. The woman turned in place, peering over the white hump of the tent and the scorched circle of their fire, soaking in the vastness.

"Professor Frost?"

The woman stopped, turning her head slightly to peer at her assistant. Beneath the fur-lined hood of his parka, and the ice-crusted orange goggles that he wore, icicles hung from his sparse beard. He held a steaming cup of coffee an inch beneath his nose, savoring the brief warmth.

"Aaron, I have asked you repeatedly to call me Bridget. I refuse to return from a two-week expedition with you still calling me 'Professor Frost'".

Aaron nodded, a slightly more pronounced gesture than his constant shivering.

"Sure thing, uh, Bridget," he said.

Bridget grinned at him. "Are we ready to go?"

He nodded again. "All set, Prof...Bridget. The lines are in place, radio's good to go. Frigga just blew her stack, so we've got a good hour and a half."

Bridget looked past him at the diminishing plume of steam that marked the geyser's – named Frigga by Aaron -- location. Sunk several feet below ground level, the opening to the great vent was all but invisible in the unbroken whiteness of the land. Only the thin, black struts of their rappelling gear marred the pristine view.

Bridget strode briskly to the edge of geyser, sweeping Aaron up in her wake. She pushed back the hood of her parka, revealing a mane of fire orange hair above a wind-burned face, and squatted above the geyser. Traces of steam whirled about the dark hole, and she could feel sensation returning to her skin with Frigga's warmth and moisture.

"Well," she said, clipping on her headset, "time's a-wasting."

"Professor...," Aaron began, "Bridget....Look..."

"We are not having this conversation again, Aaron." She clipped her harness to a line that disappeared into the geyser's mouth.

"But this is work for a team! We were just supposed to find evidence!"

Bridget sighed and sat on the edge of the geyser, testing her lamp by shining it into the geyser. The light revealed glistening ice formations, sparkling in the dim illumination.

"We do not have any evidence, Aaron," she said. "What we have is some strange stories and a chunk of petrified wood. I am not going back to the University and asking for a twenty-person team with a chunk of wood and an old woman's story about a frozen viking ship."

With that, she launched herself from the lip of the geyser. The frame from which her line was suspended creaked briefly as it took her weight. She flicked on her headlamp and let out a few feet of line, until she was level with the mouth of the geyser.

"Now," she said, smiling up at her assistant, "Get on that radio. If anything happens, you won't be doing me any good standing there like a dope."

Aaron shrugged and shook his head. "You sure are brave, Professor."

"Not brave," she replied, "just crazy." With that, she let out some more line, and disappeared into the darkness of the geyser. Aaron retreated to the tent and sat in front of the radio set.

Frost's voice immediately came through, crystal clear, on the receiver. "You there?"


A laugh. "Right. Proceeding -- I've turned a bend, and I'm losing daylight fast. No sign of the actual geyser yet, but things are getting pretty steamy."

"We should have camped down there," Aaron said.

" long as you don't mind getting parboiled every hour and a half."

For fifteen minutes, the Professor proceeded through the tunnel, chattering constantly. Aaron took notes rapidly, struggling to keep up with the Professor's flurry of observations.

Then, suddenly, a silence.


A second, then two passed. Aaron rose from his seat.


"It's here..." Bridget's voice drifted from the radio set. "It's here, and it's amazing."

Aaron sat down quickly, grabbing up his pen again. "What do you see, Professor?"

"It's unlike any viking craft I've ever seen," she replied. A burst of static, and then "...a hundred feet, stem to stern. Perfectly preserved."

"Great, Professor! Get some pictures and come on up."

"I'm going aboard...there's a gangplank extended. I don't see any crew, not even a sign of them."

"No armor? No weapons? No skeletons?"

"No. Nothing...wait. One body, on top of a funereal cairn. It's a woman!"

Aaron grinned. "Maybe we should let the forensic anthropologists decide that, Professor."

"No, she's perfectly preserved."

"That's not possible, Professor. Are you pulling my leg?"

"And the way she's dressed...this armor. It's beautiful! This flies in the face of everything we know about the Vikings!"

Aaron leaned closed to the microphone. "Professor, don't touch..."

A burst of static and feedback screamed from the receiver, and Aaron feel backwards out of his chair. Jumping up quickly, he snatched up the microphone.


Silence. A moment passed. He listened intently, and thought he could hear the Professor breathing on the other end. "Professor?"

Frost's stunned voice drifted from the receiver. "Who are you?"

"It's me Professor!" he yelled back. "It's Aaron!"

A strident voice rang from the receiver -- Frost's voice, perhaps, but stronger, brighter, more urgent than Aaron had ever heard it. "I am Ygrid, daughter of Ymir! And who art thou, Mortal?"

"Professor!" Aaron shouted again. "Snap out of it!"

A pause on the other end of the connection, and then Frost's voice.

"I'm Bridget. Bridget Frost"



Part 2: A Conversation

When Bridget awoke, she was seated on the deck of the viking ship, but the ship was no longer ice-locked within the geyser. It drifted in golden sunlight, upon a crystal blue river that ran between vast orchards that stretched to the horizon. A fire burned in a pit on the deck, and seated across from her was a giant of a woman -- the woman from the ship. Her blue eyes shone fiercely beneath a flowing mane of red hair, which was held back by a winged tiara wrought in silver. Her skin was pale and unblemished, her muscles smooth but powerful. She wore silver mail, crusted with jewels and etched over its entire surface with harsh runes, and a great mace lay across her knees. The woman peered at Bridget suspiciously, and it was all the Professor could do to meet the fierce gaze.

Bridget shook herself, running her hands along the smooth planks of the deck, convincing herself of its tangibility. A minute passed, and the warrior woman was as unmoving as a statue.

"Who are you?" Bridget ventured.

The warrior woman nodded, a slight smile lifting the corners of her mouth. "I am Ygrid, daughter of Ymir!" The woman's voice rang like a great, silver bell, seemingly echoing from the horizon. "And who art thou, Mortal?"

Frost paused for a moment, stunned by the force of the woman's voice. "I'm Bridget," she replied. "Bridget Frost."

The warrior nodded. "Hm...I knew this, Professor Frost. That is strange, is it not?"

"How did you..."

The warrior woman peered into the fire between them, nodding her head, her red tresses shining in the sunlight. "What is this place I see?" she said, ignoring Bridget. "The great, gray towers...the smoke. Hast thou been to Hel's realm? Hast thou travelled among the dishonored?"

Bridget glanced at the fire, and within the flames she saw the skyline of Paragon City. The towing edifices of Steel Canyon stood in great rows behind the looming statuary of Atlas Park.

"No," she said, watching the scene within the fire. "That is Paragon City. That is where I live."

"Mortals live there?"

Bridget shrugged. "Yes, mortals. Just mortals."

The warrior woman -- Ygrid -- nodded again, and then peered at the sky. "It would seem we are in Asgard," she said, "but the All-Father's presence I feel but dimly."

"All-Father? Odin?"

"Aye, Woden. In Asgard, his wisdom shines as the sun, and its warmth covers everything. But I feel it not...just a dim echo of his majesty..."

Bridget was suddenly aware of being quite cold. She shivered, and watched the warrior woman's gaze return to the fire. Within, she could see a pack of zombies attacking a bus -- a scene she had witnessed a year before, soon after she had move to Paragon City. One of the zombies – a huge one, held together with stitches and staples – grabbed a young girl and shuffled down an alley.

Ygrid nodded, the flames dancing in her blue eyes. “It certainly seems as though thou dost hail from Hel’s realm, or from a place more awful.” She looked up, calmly assessing Bridget. “Though thy mind sayest otherwise. Aye, I know the truth.”

Bridget was finding it easier to meet the other’s gaze. “And from whence dost…where do you come from?”

“I am the born daughter of Ymir, the Frost Giant. Dost thou know of him?”

Bridget nodded.

“Aye, that is good.” Ygrid grinned. “Ymir did force himself on a daughter of Asgard – a valkyrie – and thus was I spawned. I came of age in Asgard, at the foot of the All-Father and under the tutelage of his kin. Thus did I grow wise, swift, and strong, and when it was my time, I became a Valkyrie, fighting at the side of my mother. ‘Twas a good life.”

Bridget nodded. “How didst…you end up here?”

Ygrid smiled and shrugged, her great shoulders rising and falling. “I know not. There was a pitched battle with the spawn of Loki and my father’s people. Boulders fell from the sky like rain, and the enemy piled up around us until we trod upon a carpet of corpses. It was glorious.”

“I was struck with a boulder, and my shield arm shattered. I rose to continue the melee, and I slew many more, wielding my mace in my left hand. At the last, I grew weary, and was struck down by a vile half-brother.”

The warrior maiden smiled, as though reminiscing on a gentle summer’s day, rather than her own violent death. “’Twas not the first time I have fallen in battle – for I served as a Valkyrie for many ages – but I did not wake in Valhalla with my sisters. Instead, I awoke upon this ship, with thee. It makes little sense to me.”

The frost maiden sighed, and an icy tear dropped from her cheek, shattering against the deck of the ship. “Perhaps Ragnarok has come and gone, and the presence I feel is but a memory of the All-Father.”

Bridget shook her head, and nearly reached for the woman, until Ygrid raised her head, glaring up at the woman with her ice-blue eyes ablaze.

“I will not take pity from a mortal,” she growled.

Bridget rocked back, shaking her head. “I merely meant to say, that if Midgard still exists, then surely Ragnarok has not yet come.”

“If that be so, then where be the All-Father? Where be Thor? Freya? Heimdal? Where be Asgard, beyond what we can see from this cursed funeral ship?”

Frost could only shrug. “I don’t know.”

Ygrid’s eyes returned to the fire. The Vahzilok continued to plunder the schoolbus when, from above, a trio of heroes dropped to the ground. They swiftly decimated the assembled undead, leashing out with lances of energy or pounding the enemy into paste with swift punches. The Valkyrie watched with rapt attention until the melee was ended. The heroes began tending to the wounded, as more conventional authorities appeared.

“Who were those beings?” Ygrid asked. “New gods?”

“No. Those are super-heroes.”

“Super-heroes?” Ygrid nodded slowly, as though listening to a voice that Bridget couldn’t hear. “Ah, I see.” The valkyrie nodded and looked up, grinning at Bridget in a way that made her nervous.


“My path is clear!” Ygrid cried, and smashed her mailed fist upon her leg with a thunderous clatter. “A quest has been laid before me, and I will take it! I will go to Midgard, to this patch of Hel that thou callest Paragon, and I will slay the demons that reside there until the All-Father can do naught but summon me!”

“And thou, mortal,” she continued, her eyes sparkling, “’Tis thy destiny to aid me!”

Bridget shrugged helplessly. “How?”

“It would seem that I can not leave this place without a mortal vessel. Thou art that vessel, Bridget Frost.”

The professor shook her head. “What will happen to me?”

Ygrid shrugged. “I know not. Perhaps thou shalt stay here. Perhaps thou wilt travel within, as observer. Perhaps we shall share the shell.” The valkyrie dismissed her concerns with a shrug. “It matters not. With the might of Asgard behind me, it shant take more than a fortnight to cleanse thy village of its demons, and thus return in glory to my kin! Then shall thy body be thine once more.”

Bridget continued to shake her head. “I don’t think…”

“Thou didst make thy choice when thou didst touch my helm. It is done!” The valkyrie grinned widely and stood. “Bridget Frost, we shall be a super-hero!”

“But I…”

“It would seem that my armor is no longer the fashion in Midgard,” Ygrid continued. “What is the armor that the heroes in thy memories wear?”

“That would be spandex.”

“Ah. Then I shall need new armor, fashioned of this ‘Spandex’.”


“And I have need of a super-hero name, for though Loki’s minions tremble at the mention of Ygrid’s name, ‘tis not likely that the demons of thy realm have heard of me. Perhaps they would tremble at the might of ‘the Valkyrie’!”

Bridget grinned. “I think we have one of those already.”

“Ice Queen’?”


Ygrid scowled. “’Wonder Maiden’?”

“Very taken.”

The valkyrie sighed and shook her head. “’Frost Giant’s Daughter’?”

Professor Frost shook her head. “A touch too long. How about...’Frost Daughter’?”